Paul Cezanne

r

CEZANNE

by

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

$3.00

CEZANNE

by
EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

Modernism's debt to Paul Cezanne is enormous
and many-faceted. He is justly called "the father of
Modern Art," who before relinquishing his brush
in death, pointed the onward way. His great paint-
ings, notably some of the landscapes and still-lifes,
could be appreciated as having been wrought by a
man noble in aspiration and often superb in ac-
complishment. He was strong in the strength of an
individual style, a personal power to create.

This is the first monograph on Cezanne to be com-
piled which contains pictures to be found only in
American collections. Many of his best paintings
have in late years found a haven in our galleries
thus completing our rich representation of this
master's work. The eight reproductions in full-
color and the forty-eight black and white half-tone
lithographs exhibited in this volume are the final
choice made from hundreds of works of art owned
by famous private collectors and institutions in
America. Many of them have never been repro-
duced before.

Edward Alden Jewell is the art critic of "The New
York Times" and has been writing a distinguished
column for many years. Thanks to the enthusiastic
co-operation of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston,
The Art Institute of Chicago, Durand-Ruel, New
York, The Fogg Museum of Art, Cambridge, The
Frick Collection, the Honolulu Academy of Arts,
The Lewisohn Collection, The Chester Dale Col-
lection, the National Gallery of Art, Washington,

( Continued on back flap )

Published by
THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed h\
DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE

New York

Property of
The Hilla von Rebay Foundation

VASE OF FLOWERS c. 1876 Oil 28%" x23y2"

Courtesy of The National Gallery of Art, Washin%ton> D. C, Chester Dale Collection (Loan)

PAUL

CEZANNE

by

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

•tC^] .*— is. /T?

Q^JL^cA^o-^\

Published by

THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed by

DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE
NEW YORK

THIS VOLUME,

ONE OF THE HYPERION ART MONOGRAPHS,

WAS EDITED BY AIMEE CRANE

AND PUBLISHED IN MCMXLIV FOR

THE HYPERION PRESS

Printed in the United States of America
Copyright 1944 by The Hvperion Press, New York

CEZANNE

h

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

y "tr njhk great post-impressionist painters,
them, were strange. Men of genius inv
Jl I suppose, in some respects at least.

all four of
variably are,
ppose, in some respects at least. Of course
"strange" is a not too explicit term. As applied to these
artists — Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin and Van Gogh — its
sense ranges from hermit-like sequestration to madness.
The point of divergence from what we also inexplicitly speak
of as the human "norm" need not be labored. But it is per-
haps interesting enough to warrant our making note of the
matter as prelude to the pages that follow. Contrasted with
great contemporaries of theirs such as Renoir and Corot,
these four Post-Impressionists confront us with curious
psychological problems.

Most "dramatic" were the lives of Vincent Van Gogh
and Gauguin, the sensational elements of which have been
so widely publicized. We are well acquainted with the tragic
circumstances that shaped Vincent's last years: his religious
fanaticism; his hallucinations and sun-drenched, demented
frenzies at Aries; his incarceration in an asylum at Saint-
Rt-my, and the desperate bungled suicide at Auvers. Like-
wise thrice familiar to us is Gauguin's turbulent career:
his relinquishment of economic security in the interest of
becoming a painter; the subsequent abandonment of his
family and the "flight from civilization;" his romantic but
harried and disease-blighted existence in the South Seas;
death and lonely burial in that alien "paradise."

No such violent developments marked the careers of
Georges Seurat and Paul Cezanne. Seurat appears to have
been at heart a recluse: a strange spirit, indwelling, mor-
bidly secretive, remote, laboring endlessly alone by lamp-
light over the little dots of his pointillist science. As for
Cezanne, after a not extraordinarily eventful youth, and,
having become an artist, after ardently repeated vain attempts
to achieve success in Paris, he retired to his native province
in southern France and seldom, during his last years, emerged
from a solitude dedicated to the always painful effort to
"realize" in terms of paint. "Old Hermit of Aix," they called
him.

Paul Cezanne was born in January of the year 1839 in

Aix-en-Provence. His father, Louis-Auguste, was at that
time a prosperous hat merchant and afterward became a
still more affluent banker. The family was well-to-do, and
Paul, throughout his life, had no financial difficulties worth
mentioning here.

The impulse to express himself as an artist began to be
revealed when he was a small child, though later on, as a
schoolboy, he appears not to have made any conspicuous
officially recognized progress in that direction. Gerstle Mack,
in his superbly thorough biography, suggests that young
Paul's art work produced in the classes of the College Bourbon
at Aix may, even then, have contained a germ of "power and
originality" that proved disconcerting to his academic teach-
ers. This, in any event, was only a very mild taste of what
was to come.

With formal education finished in 1858, when he was
about 20, the question of settling to his life work stood next
in order. By this time Paul Cezanne knew definitely that he
wanted, more than anything else, to paint. But Pt-re Cezanne
had sharply conflicting ideas on the subject. He expected
Paul to become a banker, ultimately to succeed him in this
lucrative business. If he didn't want to be a banker, then
Paul should choose some other respectable profession, pref-
erably the law. They fought it out, and Louis-Auguste won.
But that did not mean the issue was settled for good.

Paul miserably complied and, choosing "the lesser of
two evils," studied law for three years. All this time, though,
secretly encouraged by his devoted mother and by his sister
Marie, he continued by every means possible to undermine
his father's resistance. And at last the unequal struggle came
to an end. In 1861 the glorious objective was attained: Paris,
where Zola, the closest friend of Paul's youth, was struggling
to establish himself as a writer. Paul received an allowance
and was granted his freedom: to paint, to make of his life
what he saw fit — though all this, from Ix>uis-Auguste's
point of view, was calamitous and would end badly.

Nor, on Paul Cezanne's side did the so eagerly antici-
pated Paris venture turn out to be smooth sailing. At first
he saw a great deal of Zola; after a time, less and less, until

$

finally, years later, there came a complete break between
them.

He entered the Atelier Suisse, an informal sort of school,
without instruction of the customary kind. Students just
went there ami painted. Paul was a prodigious worker;
remained so all his life. But he was far from satisfied with the
progress made. Zola, at one stage, posed for him. The por-
trait was a failure, and Cezanne, in one of his rages, destroyed
it. He blew hot and cold about Paris. There was the Louvre,
and he spent much time there with the old masters. There
u.is Entile Zola, but for some reason their friendship was no
longer what it had been when they were carefree, dreaming
youths. Zola is quoted as having once remarked:

"1 le is made all of a piece, rigid and hard.* ** To convince
him of anything is like trying to persuade the towers of Notre
Dame to dame a quadrille * * * Here he is, thrown into life,
bringing to it certain ideas, unwilling to change them except
on his own judgment; at the same time remaining the kind-
est fellow in the world, always agreeing with you in speech
because of his dislike of arguments, but thinking his own
thoughts unmoved."

And Gerstle Mack, who publishes the letter from which
quotation has just been made, sums it up thus: "His temper
cut him off from the joys of peaceful understanding friend-
ship, from the pleasures of good, idle, rambling talk over a
glass of wine and a pipe." Further: "Few men have lived so
consistently detached from the outside world as Paul Cezanne.
* * * It might be said that he and his painting were enclosed
in a sort of vacuum, from which everything else in life was
excluded. But within that vacuum what titanic struggles
took place!"

By autumn of the same year he was back in Aix again.
And discouragement paved the way to his capitulating and
accepting a job as clerk in his father's bank. He stuck at
that for a year. But the desire to be an artist burned as
fiercely as ever within him. The margins of the bank ledgers
were scribbled with sketches and bits of verse. He continued
to paint. I.ouis-Auguste saw that it was hopeless. In the
autumn of 1862 Cezanne returned to Paris, staying there
much longer than before.

And it was during this period that he met some of the
younger painters, who, likewise in revolt against academic
procedure, were eventually to become known as the Impres-
sionists. He sought admission to the Beaux-Arts but couldn't
make the entrance grade. This isn't to be wondered at, since
the Beaux-Arts was the center of academism and at this time
Paul Cezanne was flinging paint on canvas in, for the most
part, a savage, undisciplined effort to create big romantic
"literary" themes of his own imagining; themes (save for a
few sober portraits) of violence, of brooding or even screaming
Baroque impetuosity.

He submitted pictures to the official Salon, which were
promptly rejected. He fought the Salon, writing strong
letters of protest and demanding that the Salon des Refuses
of 1863 be resumed. All this got him nowhere.

In 1871, despite his neurotic horror of entangling human
relationships — his constant fear lest people "get their hooks

in him" — C6zanne was living with Hortense Fiquet, who
afterward became his wife. Their son, Paul, was born in 1872.

With respect to art, the years 1872-74 brought an impor-
tant turning point. These years were spent working with
Pissarro at Auvers-sur-Oise. And it was under this benign
influence that Cezanne renounced his former impetuous
manner of painting; yielded to the discipline of Pissarro's
orderly "science." It was vital on two counts, the impression-
ist experience at Auvers. His palette was lightened, and
Cezanne developed, under Pissarro's guidance, a brush tech-
nique that, with modifications and adaptations, was retained;
also, the experience taught him to go to nature for his motifs,
instead of attempting, as before, to "realize" on the basis
alone of ideas generated within himself.

But the "science" of Impressionism, about which I have
written at some length elsewhere, could not permanently
hold Cezanne. He was not content to paint just the realistic
shimmer of surfaces. With increasing ardor he sought the
solid substance beneath; and it was this quest that, if tending
more and more toward the abstract, carried him through all
the remaining years of his life. Doggedly, slowly — often in

THE LOVE OF PUGET

1888-95 Pencil drawing \9\i" xU%"

Courtesy of The Brooklyn Museum, New York

despair, yet with unconquerable courage — he continued to
strive, now in Paris, now in Aix or elsewhere, to tether in
paint a vision that, clearly apprehended at last, was his own.

Success, in the sense of recognition, was consistently
withheld. When Cezanne exhibited with the Impressionists,

critics would single him out tor their most vitriolic blasts.
He was called a madman. Someone Suggested that he must
have delirium tremens. I \ en as the true Impressionists,
and others associated with them, gained public toleration

and half-grudging favor, Cezanne'a name still was anathema.
"People stand in trout of Cezanne'a pictures in order to have
a good laugh."

After 1877 he did not exhibit with the Impressionists.
Except tor a painting that got into the Salon "by the back
door" in 1882, and one that vicariously entered the Exposi-
tion Universelle ot 1889 (both occasioning not the slightest
stir) Cezanne's work was not exhibited in France for nearly
two decades. Gerstle Mack tells us that "as far as the public
was concerned, the interval was a period of complete isola-
tion tor Ce/anne."

It was just as well. The abuse heaped upon him hurt.
Failure to secure recognition had entailed many a heartache.
But Cezanne, withdrawing into himself, prospered spirit-

l>

THE MERCURY OF PIG 11. 1. E

1879-82 Drawing lr7-\-." \ H>' ■
Courtesy of Weyhe Gallery, Xew York

u.illy. The hard way and there could have been in his
t .ise no other DTOVed tor him the wa\ oi s.ilv.ition.

On the material tide he had fen worries, lbs father, who
died in 1886, had kept him financially independent snd left

him well provided for. lbs mother died eleven yean later.

In isi's he went n> Paris, remaining dure about a year.

Returned, he did not leave \i\ again e\iept for one |hoN
absence in 1904,

( >t his native Provence, which he loved so deeply, he had

once said: "When one has been born down there, nothing
else is worth much."

Cezanne died at Aix in 1906, aged 67.

lbs development as a painter tails roughly, as I see it,
into four phases, which have been touched upon in the tore
going pages. In his youth, inclined to be fiery and governed
by the intenser sort of enthusiasms, it was Cezanne'a over-
whelming desire, as we have seen, to paint great dark Baroque
subjects. These indicate what might have been the direction
of his continued growth had he not shifted his whole approach,
to become the Cezanne we chiefly know today.

The principal inspiration then was furnished by masters
such as Delacroix, Rubens, and the Venetians. The themes
have been aptly described as "inner visions," antecedent
to the practice of directly contemplating nature. In those
early pictures his approach to nature was not direct, but in-
stead that of a poet aspiring, without the necessary techni-
cal equipment, to take by storm peaks of imaginative, often
fantastic, attainment hopelessly out of reach. In Roger Fry's
opinion public encouragement prompting Cezanne to persist
in this direction "might have deprived us of the greatest
master of modern times." Cezanne, though utterly sincere,
was groping. He had not yet found himself.

He did not begin really to find himself until, associated
with Pissarro, he adopted the direct approach to nature.
But, as I have tried to show, the working out of that method
proved far less simple than it may have looked at first. The
little patiently applied brushstrokes might come gradually
to supplant an earlier broad lathering and plastering on of
paint. With this new technique one might learn to imitate
the effects of light. Vet Cezanne as he proceeded felt with
augmenting assurance that there is more to nature than out-
ward "effects. " Through these his eye must pierce till it
had come to grips with the forms beneath. It meant that
his problem concerned, in the long run, not appearances,
but rather abstract form itself and abstract space. What it
most clearly meant was that a new "inner vision" was now
seeking release.

Of the persistence of this vision within himself, new though
the guise it took, Ce/anne seems sometimes to have been
fully cognizant. True, in a letter, written near the close of
his life to Entile Bernard, he said: "For progress towards
realization there is nothing but nature, ami the eve becomes
educated through contact with her." Vet in another letter to
Bernard, in the same year (1904) Cezanne acknowledg

that for the artist external nature is not all. While "one
cannot be too scrupulous, too sincere, or too humble before
nature, one is more or less master of one's model, and above all
of one's means of expression.'' Yes, "one must penetrate
what is in front of one and persevere in expressing oneselj
;is logically as possible." Me has also, somewhere, spoken
ot the creative expression that docs not imitate, but instead
that parallels nature.

From the Auvers period onward, Cezanne seldom attempt-
ed to paint without a model (whether fruit, flowers, a moun-
tain, or the human form). Without these he would fumble
again, as in his youth, and be lost. All through the years,
it is true, the old urge toward imaginative motifs persisted,
and would sometimes become openly recrudescent, as in those
late ambitious compositions of bathers — -which, however
noble in spirit, desperately publish the fact that he had
turned away from the direct approach to nature and was help-
lessly striving without models.

It might be said, and I think reasonably, that everything
Ct/anne created was shaped, in one way or another, by em-
battled elements of conflict within. I am by no means the
first to point out that Cezanne seems to have been powerless
fully and triumphantly to "realize" on the basis alone of
inner propulsion. To this must be attributed the relative
failure of those grandiose dreams of his youth. Like Courbet
(though the results were quite divergent) he "could not con-
vincingly paint what was not before his eyes." That, by the
way, is why Courbet would not try to paint an angel: it just
wasn't there. With whatever vehemence Cezanne might repu-
diate verisimilitude, hiss point of departure had nevertheless
to be concrete actuality. His creative "sensations" must be
experienced "in the presence of nature."

On the other hand, I think that at all times Cezanne was
a subjective artist — even when, confronted with nature
itself, he tried so hard to "realize" what he called his motifs.
Cezanne was never objective in the sense that applies to
painters who try literally to set down what is before them.
Cezanne always reorganized. He simplified, distorting freely
when the design, for his purposes, called for distortion. He
followed his innate architectonic sense, however much it
might appear that he was dependent upon the object — land-
scape or still-life or a human sitter.

The upshot shows some curious and I believe significant
aspects. Although Cezanne was so passionately devoted to
his sovereign desire to create art, there yet appears something
strangely passionless in his impartial attitude toward subject.
Any model (save the nude, of which he had an odd sort of
neurotic fear) would serve his purpose, if only he could keep
it before him long enough — for he worked with painful de-
liberation. Landscape was tractable, especially in Provence,
where, as he once mentioned to Pissarro, "vegetation does not
change," so that months could be spent on a single canvas.
Generally tractable, too, were objects assembled for still-
life. Fruit, of course, does unfortunately decay. And Vollard

GUILLAUMIN WITH THE HANGED MAN
1873 Etching 6%"xW
Courtesy of The Art Institute of Chicago, The Albert Rouillier

Memorial Collection

tells us that Cezanne didn't hesitate to use artificial flowers,
or, when even these failed him by fading, illustrations in
magazines.

In the human realm difficulties not always surmountable
were encountered. In painting a portrait he would insist,
with ominous flourishes of the palette knife, upon a sitter's
remaining absolutely, for hours at a stretch, immobile, "like
an apple." One never knew when in rage he might slash a
canvas to shreds, or fling it out of the window. Mme. Cezanne
must have been patience itself, for she posed for numerous
portraits, not all of which, despite that phenomenal patience
of hers, were brought to completion. It must have been truly
dreadful, posing for Cezanne.

Vollard gives us some idea of the lengths to which the
artist would go in carrying out his complex plan. Two little
spots of bare canvas remain on the hand in Vollard's portrait.
"Don't you see," Cezanne is quoted as explaining, "that
if I put something there by guesswork, I might have to paint
the whole canvas over starting at that point?"

Vollard confides that "the prospect made me tremble."
The painting of his portrait required, as it was, 115 sittings.

I have alluded to all this not by way of dwelling upon the

8

ordeal through which a human sitter had to pass who posed
for Cezanne. The point I would make is that in his mature
painting Cezanne approached every subject with the same
dispassionate wish just to "realize" ideas that formed in his
own head; ideas founded on what might be Called plastic
geometry. Cezanne saw in terms of volumes, planes, and
space. He did awav with aerial perspective. He established
recession from the picture plane by means of a system <>t
modulated color or the use of different colors to mark the
receding planes. He sought "eternal verities," impersonal
except in the sense that they were personal with him.

M.mv of the landscapes are magnificent. So are main ol
the austere or more sensuous still-hfes. Figure subjects such
as those constituting the "Card Players" scries are superblv
designed and very solidly painted. Most of the portraits
fail, as such, because of the very nature of his approach. He
portrayed a human sitter just as he would poitraj Mont
Ste.-Yictoire or an apple. His consuming interest lav, as I
have said, in volumes, planes, space, design. And while all
of these abstract qualities are of first-rate importance in art,
and could not be dispensed with, the sum of them, without
that vital "something else," can never reveal for us true-
inward human character.

\o« and then, let us concede, Cezanne did more palpablv
succeed in this respect, exploring deeper strata of an individual
spirit. To some extent, maybe, this is true of the marve-
lously constructed portrait of M. Gershoy. It is particularly
trvie in the instance of certain self-portraits. But I think it
fair and even urgent to say that in Cezanne's work we en-
counter little indeed that bears any profound relationship
to living flesh and blood. It is because of this transcendent,
coldly calculating concern with architectonic problems of
"picture-making" that he differs so drastically from an artist
such as Rembrandt.

Through endless contemplation of nature Cezanne gleaned
elements that, freely transformed, mastered, could be shaped
to the requirements of his own splendid scheme of abstract
values, to his heart's desire. From a human point of view,

Water-color sketch
Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New '.

Water-color sket< h

Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, Xe:c York

many of the portraits (especially of Mine. Cezanne, his most
frequent sitter) are little more than travesties, however
arresting as purely plastic accomplishment the result may
be deemed.

The fourth phase of Cezanne's development, to which I
have referred, embodies the increasingly abstract expression
toward which he moved during the final years. This trend
is best illustrated in landscapes of that period. Some ol these
are almost pure essence abstractions, slenderly equipped
indeed with representational signposts by means of which
one might "recognize" the specific scene studied by the
artist. The difference between them and earlier landscapes
is striking. Subtle suggestion now is everything, both in oils
and in certain diaphanous water-colors, water-colors at once
so delicate and so firm in their short-hand delineation of
solid earth forms.

Cezanne's theory it was, frequently cited, that all nature
could be reduced to the sphere, the cone, and the cylinder.
This concept we find more generally applied in his work;
its application, I mean, goes back much further than the latest
period about which we are now speaking. It may often be
sensed especially in still-lifes. With that in mind, and the
much more loosely brushed late abstractions, we are tempted
to speculate concerning development of a radical nature that
all this seems to adumbrate.

While no one, of course, can be certain that Cezanne
would ever have traveled altogether beyond the realm of
outward or visible actuality, it is fascinating to entertain
the possibility that, had he lived a decade or so longer, in
full command of his creative power, he might, himself, have
"invented" Cubism. Be that as it may, one need I think
hardly qualify the assertion that those late abstract land-
scapes and the sphere-cone-cylinder principle constitute the
source to which, a generation thence, Picasso and Braquc
turned; the base on which were predicated their cubist ex-
periments. Modernism's debt to C< v.inne is enormous and
many-faceted. Cezanne it was, justly called "the father ol

Modern Art," who, before relinquishing his brush in death,
pointed the onward way.

A word might be added concerning my own fluid atti-
tude toward Cezanne's work. It has passed through a cycle
of transformation since 1928, when, under the xgis of Roger
Fry and Julius Meier -Graefe in particular, I sailed off,
exalted, into the empyrean, and spoke of Cezanne's plastic

metry as a matter of planets and starry cosmic space.
One could not, I pronounced, escape, contemplating pic-
tures by Ct'/anne, "the awe that at times clutches in the
throat of even a seasoned astronomer." A year thence, still
on the side of ecstasy, I could affirm that "each apple had
arrived at its destination in a miniature universe.'-' But by
the time Mr. Bulliet decided that through all the ages only
Rembrandt, Kl Greco, Michelangelo, and Giotto were of
Cezanne's "stature," I found that I had begun to calm down.

In 1931, writing about the respective approaches of Van
Gogh and Ct'/anne to color, I was ready to ask: "Have we any
evidence that the Hermit of Aix ever missed a pulsebeat
over the radiance of a flowering orchard?" Though it might
amount to heresy, I confessed being not moved as before by
Ct zanne's geometrical system. I doubted whether genius
of the most transcendent sort flashed through every least

stroke of a laborious brush. Such superlatives should go.

Finally, in 1934, visiting a large Cezanne exhibition in
Philadelphia, I suddenly felt that the whole problem had, for
me, become resolved. For years I had, if with a troubled
and less and less resolute mind, subscribed to the prevailing
attitude of hush and awe. All at once my eyes were opened
to a new vision of the master, who had ceased to be some
kind of superhuman demi-god. With a sigh I let it all go,
and confessed that this renunciation was followed by a curi-
ous peace of mind: "I was free of the Cezanne albatross."

No longer did Cezanne's work seem to me but "a labored
critical figment." The great paintings, notably some of the
landscapes and still-lifes, could be appreciated as having been
wrought by a man noble in aspiration and often superb in
accomplishment. Like the other great nineteenth-century
French artists, he was strong in the strength of an individual
style, a personal power to create. Cezanne was just . . .
(Kzanne.

There is a charming little anecdote, often quoted, which
sums up so well my present attitude that I should like it to
stand as my last word in this brief survey. A Frenchman
and his son were riding, and saw, near at hand, an artist at
his easel in a field. The boy said: "Look, there's Cezanne!"
How, the father asked, could the boy be sure? The reply
was perfect: "Well, don't you see he is painting a Cezanne?"

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Albert C. Barnes and Violette de Mazia, The Art of Cezanne. New

York, 1939, Harcourt, Brace and Co.
Emile Bernard, Souvenirs sur Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1926, R. G.

Michel.
Fritz Burger, Cezanne, una1 Hodler. Miinchen, 1913, Delphin-

Yerlag.
Cezanne. Paris, 1914, Bernheim-Jeune. Texte d'Octave Mirbeau,

Theodore Duret, Leon Werth, Frantz Jourdan.
Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat and Fan Gogh. First Loan Exhibition,

November 1929. New York, 1929, Museum of Modern Art.

Foreword by Alfred H. Barr, Jr.
Cezanne (Issue on Cezanne), l' Amour de I 'Art. Paris, May 1936,

Editions A. Sedrowski.
Paul Cezanne. London, 1929, The Studio, Ltd. Text by Anthony

Bertram.
Adrien Chappius, Dessins de Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1938, Editions

des Chroniques du Jour.
Gustave Coquiot, Cezanne. Paris, 19 1 9, Ollendorf.
Elie Faure, Cezanne. New York, 1913, Association of American

Painters and Sculptors, Inc. Translated by Walter Pach.
Elie Faure, Cezanne. Paris, 1926, G. Cres et Cie.
Elie Faure, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, G. Cres et Cie. (Text in French

and English.)
•Roger Eliot Fry, Cezanne, a Study 0/ His Development. New York,

. :-, Macmillan Co.
Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Paris, 1921, Bernheim-Jeune.
Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Paris, 1927, F. Sant Andrea.
Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Berlin, 1930, Bruno Cassirer Verlag.
Hans Graber, Paul Cezanne, Xach Eigenen und Fremden Zeugnissen.

I, 1942, Benno Schwabe & Co., Verlag.
Tristan 1.. Klingsor, Cezanne. Paris, 1923, Rieder.
Tristan I.. Klingsor, Cezanne. New York, 1024, l)odd, Mead & Co.
Leo Largui< . >/<■ 0» le Drome de la Peinture. Paris, no date.

Editions Denoel et Steele.
I 0 Larguier, l.e Dimanche avec Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1925, L'Edition.

*Gerstle Mack, Cezanne. New York, 1936, Alfred A. Knopf.
Gerstle Mack, La Vie de Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1938, Gallimard.

Translated from the English by Nancy Bouwens.
Julius Meier-Graefe, Cezanne. Miinchen, 1923, R. Piper & Co.
*Julius Meier-Graefe, Cezanne. New York, 1927, Charles Scribner's

Sons. Translated from the German by J. Holroyd-Reece.
Fritz Novotnv, Cezanne. Vienna, 1938, Verlag von Anton Schroll

&Co.
Fritz Novotny and Ludwig Goldscheider, Cezanne. New York,

1937, Oxford University Press.
Eugenio D'Ors, Cezanne. Paris, 1930, Editions des Chroniques du

Jour. Translated from Spanish to French by De Francesco

Amunategiu.
Kurt Pfister, Cezanne, Gestalt, Werk, Mythos. Potsdam, 1927,

Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag.
Maurice Raynal, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, Editions de Cluny.
Maurice Raynal, Cezanne. Paris, 1939, Albert Skira. (Les Tresors

de la Peinture Francaise.)
John Rewald, Cezanne et Zola. Paris, 1936, Editions A. Sedrowski.
John Rewald, ed., Paul Cezanne Correspondance. Paris, 1937, Edi-
tions Bernard Grasset.
John Rewald, ed., Paul Cezanne Letters. London, 1941, Bruno

Cassirer. Translated from the French by Marguerite Kay.
Georges Riviere, Cezanne, le Peintre Solitaire. Paris, 1936, H.

Floury.
Georges Riviere, Le Maitre Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1923, H. Floury.
Lionello Venturi, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, Paul Rosenberg, Editeur.

2 vols.
Ambroise Vollard, Cezanne. Paris, 1914, Galerie A. Vollard.
Ambroise Vollard, Cezanne. Paris, 1924, G. Cres et Cie.
*Ambroise Vollard, Paul Cezanne, His Life and Art. New York,

1937, Crown Publishers. Translated by Harold L. Van Doren.
Ambroise Vollard, Unit Phototypes d'apres Cezanne. Paris, 1919,

G. Cres et Cie.
H. Yon Wedderkop, Cezanne. Leipzig, 1922, Klinkhardt & Biermann.

* Reference in the text.

IO

i TILL 1. 1 11'.

c. 1890 Oil 2SW x31M"
Horud Gallery of Art, Washington, D. <?., Chester Dale Collect: , . /. m)

CIRf. Ill Til .1 DO I. L

1900-02 Oil 29V x 24"

Courtesy of The Honolulu Academy of Arts

B'jY WITH .1 STRAW II. IT

1896 oil 27M"x23 '

Courtesy of Mr. J. Stransky, N York

MME. CI-:/.. 1\ VE TN THE GREENHOUSE

Collection of Mr. Stephen C. Clark, New York

1890 Oil 36-V'x29

s

UXCLE DOM IMC AS .1 MONK

Copyright The Frick Collection, Xew York

c. 1865-67 Oil 25" x 21"

15

LA TAXTE MARIE

[6

Courtesy of The City Art Museum, St. Louis

1867-69 Oil 2l"xUy2"

ril.L.-IC.F. OF G.IRD.ISSF.

Collection of The Brooklyn Museum, NtVD

1885-86 Oil 36>_;"x30"

IS

i II \ TE-l'ICT01RE MOUNT. II V Oil 25 %" x 32 V8"

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, H. 0. Havemeyer Collection

ALTERS, SMALL HOUSES c. 1881 Oil ISWxll"

The Fogg Museum of Art, Harvard University, Bequest of Annie S. Coburn

19

THE GLADE

c. 1892-96 Oil 39%"x32^"
The Toledo Museum of Art, Edward Drummond Libbey Collection

20

THE BASKET OF APPLES 1885 Oil 24^" x 31".

The Art Institute of Chicago, Helen Birch Bartlett Memorial Collection

Water-color sketch
Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New York

21

BOTHERS

Water-color 7y2" x 10 M"
Courtesy of Dr. and Mrs. Leslie M. Maitland, Bel-Air, Los Angeles

Water-color sketch
Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New York

22

PORTRAIT Of MADAME CEZANNE

Collection of Sam Salz, New York
Colorplaie: Fortune Magazine

1883 S7 Oil is i," x IS"

i

%

THE tRTISrS 1 .11' HER

ft .. i T "

1863 Oil 65 H x4S

Collection of Raymond Pitcairn. B>\>i Athyn

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST BEFORE HIS EASEL

Courtesy of Bignou Gafferyt Xrx York

1885-87 Oil 36" x 2*

THE COTTAGE IN THE TREES

Courtesy of Durand-Rue/, New York

1873 Oil 24" x \9H"

PORTRAIT OF HENRI GAS$]L IT

Courtesy of The Bipiou Gallery, Veto York

c. 1896-97 Oil 21'»"x I

STILL LIFE

Collection of Mr. John T. Spaulding, Boston

1890-94 Oil 13"xl6)i"

THE HOUSE

1888-92 Water-color 22 3^" x 17"

Courtesy of Mr. F. II. Unschland, New York

28

CHESTXL'T TREES AT JAS DE BOVFFAN

Copyright The Frick Collection, New York

1885-87 Oil 2834"'x36"

THE TIMEPIECE OF BL 1CK V 1RBLE

1869 71 Oil 21 '
Collection of Mr. Edward G. Robinson, Beverly Hills

FLOWERS IN 1 GREEN VASE

1873-77 Oil \%\i"xU\i"

Courtesy of Mr. Carroll S. Tyson, Jr., Philadelphia

SPRIXG HOODS

1883-87 Water-color I>',"xll"
Courtesy of The Buffalo Fine Arts Academy y Albright Art Gallery

31

MAN SEATED

32

Courtesy of The Lewisohn Collection, New York

Oil 21"xl7&"

PORT R.I IT <jI THE ARTISTS Hill:

' urtesy of The Museum of line .hi , lioston

c. 1877 Oil 28'/'x22','

34

THE BATHERS 1890 Oil 20^"x24K'

The Art Institute of Chicago, Amy Irwin McCormick Memorial, Gift of Robert R. McCormick

MAN KITH A STRAW II AT — PORTRAIT OF BOYER 1870-71 Oil 21 ■•<i" x 15" T

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NetO York

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST'S SON, PAUL 1885 Oil 2Sy2"x2\\i"

The National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C, Chester Dale Collection

I.E.-f.XI.XG //'O.W./.Y

Courtesy of Dr. and Mrs. Harry Bakivin, New York

1896 Oil 36" x 2^

THE PLA '.XT

c. 1886 Water-color 20" x 13"

Courtesy of IVildenstein Gallery, New York

HOUSE OF DR. GACHET AT AUGERS 1873 Oil 24" x 20' .,"

The Art Institute of Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. M. A. Ryerson Collection

39

4o

PORT R A IT OF MADAME CEZANNE

Courtesy of Mr. S. S. White, jrd, Ardmore, Pa.

c. 1885 Oil 1Wx15'

f
f

^fA/" PORTRAIT

Courtesy of The Phillips Memorial Gallery, Washington, D. C.

c. 1877 Oil 24"xl8>_."

THE SEA AT L'ESTA^UE

1883-86 Oil 28"x35^"

42

Collection of Paul Cezanne Fils, Paris

THE HIS DISC ROAD

1879-82 Oil 24'f x28>_."

Collection oj Mr. "John T. Spau/ding, Boston

43

PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN

44

Collection of Marcel Kap/erer, Paris

1892-96 Oil 26"x2\y5'

PORTRAIT OF LOUIS

1875-76 Oil 17"x2P,

Courtesy of Mr. Maurice If'ertheim, New York

45

THE CARD PLAYERS

46

Courtesy of Mr. Stephen C. Clark, New York

1890-92 Oil 2SH"x32*A"

re
le

THE WALLS

Courtesy of Durand-Ruel, New York

1875-76 Oil 20"x26"

PORTRAIT OF AMBROISE BOLLARD

Collection of Ambroise Vollard, Paris

1899 Oil 40"x32H"

D. G, ami virtually all tin- collectors in the entire
country whose facilities were generously made
available to the editor, ■ permanent exhibition <>t
( i /.uuu paintings comes into the possession of

each owner of this volume.

Re bay

U Jewell, Edward Allen

kk PAUL CEZANNE. New York,

.CU25 lyperion Press, cl9^-
J59 '

M Jewell, Edward Allen Rebay
kk PAUL CEZANNE. New York,

.CU25 lyperion Press, cl9^.

VinHOR

TITLE

DATE
LOANED

BORROWER S NAME

DATE
RETURNED

RENOIR

by

ROSAMUND FROST

Pierre Auguste Renoir is one of our foremost
modern old masters. We accept his pictures, as
we accept the great compositions of Titian and
Poussin and Delacroix. He is now re-estimated a
quarter century after his death.

8 reproductions in full color
48 black and white half-tone lithographs
11" x 14" S3. 00

MARY CASSATT

by

MARGARET BREUNING

Mary Cassatt, who has only recently received
recognition as one of our most accomplished
artists, presents the anomaly of being a thorough
American, although spending the greater part of
her life in Paris, and acquiring her distinctive style-
while under French influences.

8 reproductions in full color
48 black and white half-tone lithographs
11" x 14" S3. 00

Published by
THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed by
DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE
New York